I may have begun another bee book review this way, but the sentiment remains true. I love bees, and I love books about bees. The Honeybee by Kirsten Hall and Canadian illustrator Isabelle Arsenault would make me fall in love with bees even if – gasp – I hated bees. Instead, this joyous, beautiful book makes me fall in love all over again.

I didn’t start out that way. Like most, I feared bees, especially their array of stinger accessories, but the more trails I walked, the more flowers and gardens and fields I observed, the more my admiration grew for these tiny, gentle pollinators.

The Honeybee takes us on a journey through the life of a bee, and a bee colony, as pollen is collected and honey created. The story trajectory is familiar – we all kinda know what bees do – but in word and image, The Honeybee stands alone as a thing of absolute beauty. Kirsten Hall’s playful poetry tells the story simply and humourously, but with a kind of meandering lilt, as if the words are perched on the hum of a bee. Isabelle Arsenault continues her run of stunning picture books, finding new ways to visually charm, and at the same time, comfort, with a throw-back warmth reminiscent of classic children’s picture book fare.

As the story begins, the reader is invited over a hill to a field of wild flowers, where a bee makes her debut in a celebratory, double-page spread.

A BEE!

Yes, a bee, with an affable, smiling face and a pair of big friendly eyes. Perhaps not quite an accurate portrayal of Apis mellifera, but true to the jubilant spirit of the book. This bee is an absolute darling, buzzing and humming through the pages as she whirls around fields of wild flowers collecting pollen. Who better than Isabelle Arsenault to imagine this blossomed landscape? The three-time Governor General Award-winning illustrator makes yellow and black, and its variations, the dominant colours – a nod to the bees’ striped apparel. The pops of pink and blue in the flowers are all the more stunning against this honeyed backdrop.

Like a hive, every element – from Hall’s storytelling to Arsenault’s glorious illustrations, work in balanced harmony. The text, which has a lovely hand-drawn quality, uses a font designed by Arsenault, named Honeybee. This book lives and breathes…and buzzes…its subject matter.

The Honeybee does what most children’s books with a message fail to do. It charms, eliciting an appreciation in the reader not only for bees and the work they do, but for the natural environment that supports their livelihoods, and tangentially, ours. Author Kirsten Hall has a deft hand, lovingly and reverentially telling the story of the honeybee. In making us fall in love, we are much more apt to respond with love. As she states in the postscript: “I wrote this story for an important reason. The honeybee is one of our world’s most marvelous creatures. And sadly, it’s in danger. In writing this book, I was hoping you might grow a new appreciation for the honeybee – and that you’ll join me in caring about its future.” Mission accomplished.

Kirsten Hall is a former preschool and elementary school teacher who has authored more than a hundred learn-to-read stories for emergent readers. Today, she is the founder and owner of a boutique children’s book illustration and literary agency, Catbird Productions. Hall is the author of the picture books The Gold Leaf and The Jacket, which was a New York Times Notable Book of 2014. Follow her at: hallwayskirsten.tumblr.com

Isabelle Arsenault is one of Canada’s – and the world’s – best and most celebrated illustrators. She studied graphic design at Universite du Quebec a Montreal, and in 2004 illustrated her first children’s book, Le Coeur de Monsieur Gauguin, for which she received Canada’s highest artistic honour, the Governor General’s Literary Award for Illustration. Following this, she was a finalist on three other occasions for the GG’s: My Letter to the World, Once Upon a Northern Night, and Migrant, which was also among The New York Times 10 best illustrated books of 2011. In 2012, Arsenault received her second Governor General’s Award for Virginia Wolf, and in 2013, she received her third Governor General’s Award for the French edition of the graphic novelesque picture book, Jane, the Fox and Me (Jane, le renard et moi). See more of her work here: isabellearsenault.com

The Honeybee by Kirsten Hall, with illustrations by Isabelle Arsenault. Atheneum Books, 2018.

I remember when A Perfect Day was announced in 2016. I said, this will be my favourite book of 2017. I can’t say whether this will prove to be true, but I can say this – the illustration of the bear with the corn cob stretched across his mouth is as good as it gets.

Bear aside, the rest of A Perfect Day is a wonder to behold, which of course is what I’ve come to expect from Lane Smith, an extraordinary illustrator and writer whose work so often ascends into the realm of genius.

Textural, beautifully observed and deeply humourous, Lane’s illustrations are instantly recognizable, but the two-time Caldecott recipient always seems to find new and creative ways of making marks on a page. In A Perfect Day, he manipulates the natural lines of the paint strokes to suggest the fur and feathers of the animals in the story, each of whom are enjoying a perfect day for a variety of reasons. This is due – in part – to a boy named Bert, who in his generosity is enjoying his own kind of perfect day.

A cat rolls in daffodils. A dog sits in a wading pool of cool water. A recently filled bird feeder pleases a chickadee. A squirrel is the happy recipient of a corn cob. Each of them is having a perfect day, until a big, brown bear shows up and steals the corn cob from the squirrel, helps himself to the birdseed, guzzles water from the wading pool, and then rolls around in the flower bed, reflecting happily and contentedly on his perfect day.

Oh, bear.

Once I was camping with my family in Jasper and a bear strolled up to our campsite and helped himself to our hamburgers. All of them. Bears do what they want.

Each critter finds happiness in the small pleasures of a summer day, and this is especially true of the bear, who is either oblivious to the havoc he creates or is in fact taking pleasure in it. The way he kind of flaunts his acquisitions, his corn-cob grin for instance, suggests the latter. Not all pleasures are innocent.

The simple narrative is enlivened by beautiful and giggle-worthy illustrations that tell the story so vividly the words are largely unnecessary. Employing a number of different media, including (I believe) watercolour, pen and collage, Smith’s sweet, and at times, woeful characters move from peace to chaos as the massive bear abruptly ends their perfect day. He is the ultimate vibe-killer.

There is just enough detail in Smith’s illustrations to render form and expression, and the rest is just play. Highly skilled play, but play nonetheless. The way the paint overlaps and adheres to the surface, absorbing the varying textures of the paper. The mix of line, dot and splash, white space and colour. The way Smith captures, with an absence of detail, the luxuriating swish of the bears arms and legs in the flowerbed. Lane Smith has always been a unique and experimental illustrator, but in the creation of this book, he too is having a perfect day.

As any regular reader of this blog will know, and that’s asking a lot considering my non-existent production of late, I love Lane Smith. To use hockey parlance, Lane Smith is a generational illustrator. The beauty of his illustrations and the quirkiness of his vision long ago separated this artist from the pack. Of course, there are other generational illustrators and like Smith, they too have carved out their own niche, but there is only one Stinky Cheese Man.

So I’ve been away from this blog for…I’m afraid to count the days. Months? No solid explanation other than life. Busy, busy life.

I aim to do better. I want to do better. Children’s picture books mean everything to me (as does hyperbole), and just because I’ve temporarily stopped writing reviews doesn’t mean – by any stretch – that I’ve stopped collecting them or pondering their singular illustrative and literary qualities. I have many beauties lined up for review. On tables, on the floor. I am overwhelmed by books. Maybe that’s part of the problem. A happy problem, but still…a problem.

In the time I’ve been ‘away’, I have discovered a new artist. Not personally discovered, of course. I’m sure Kenard Pak is aware of who he is, but nevertheless, he is relatively new on the scene, and definitely new to me. He will be my first review, or set of reviews as I have three of his books.

Heaney’s statement, about the act of writing, also resonates for me as a reader. We read to see ourselves – to illuminate our present and our past – to set the darkness echoing.

In Edmonton we rarely, if ever, are given the opportunity to see ourselves and our city reflected in the pages of a book. There have been strides in adult literature, but until the publication of Rutherford the Time-Travelling Moose, there have been no picture books celebrating Edmonton for children.

Rutherford the Time-Travelling Moose was initially conceived as a picture book about Edmonton’s history in the context of Rutherford House, the home of the first Premier of Alberta, Alexander Rutherford (1905-1910). The Friends of Rutherford House Society issued a call for story proposals and Thomas Wharton, an award-winning local author, won the bid along with illustrator Amanda Schutz, also a resident of Edmonton.

Wharton was commissioned to “animate” the bones of the story, taking it beyond its original confines to the places in Edmonton the premier and his family would have known.

The journey begins with a young girl named Robin who is visiting her grandmother at an old brick house on Saskatchewan Drive. (Readers in Edmonton will recognize this as Rutherford House.) The smell of cookies baking in a cast-iron stove elicits a conversation about Edmonton’s past. In wanders Rutherford the moose, hungry for his regular Wednesday ‘cookies and tea’ and eager to help Robin with her questions. (For international readers of this blog, please note that in Edmonton moose typically do not wander into people’s homes. Backyards, yes, but…)

As luck would have it, Rutherford is a time-travelling moose. Astride his back, Rutherford spirits the adventurous girl back to the ice-age and then travels forward through various eras, including a visit to a First Nations settlement along the banks of the North Saskatchewan River, fur traders at Fort Edmonton, an early 20th century legislature (where the Famous Five can be spotted in the foreground), the High Level Bridge with a streetcar running along the top (as its facsimile does to this day) and other recognizable Edmonton landmarks and historical touch points.

Unless you’re from a major city like New York or London, like me you probably get excited when you see familiar people and place names in books, simply because it doesn’t happen that often. This alone makes Rutherford the Time-Travelling Moose essential reading for every child in Edmonton, but it’s particularly gratifying as an illustration junkie to see my city presented so beautifully. Schutz’s bold and colourful palette serve Edmonton well, and her humourous characterizations keep the mood light and fun.

The project took six months from beginning to end, which according to Wharton – author of seven novels – is the fastest he’s ever worked. “Writing the YA trilogy Perilous Realm took every ounce of my skill and effort because I had to try and get myself into the head of a younger reader,” he says. “That was a good learning experience and in some ways it prepared me for Rutherford the Time-Travelling Moose. It made me realize I had to think about who I was writing for, and how they see the world.”

Schutz was equally sensitive to needs of her audience and to the historical accuracy in her depictions (Rutherford House provided photographs from the provincial archives), but working and living in Old Strathcona proved a definite advantage. “It was very easy for me to pop over to Whyte Ave or Strathcona Library to take images, or think about what elements were important to include in in the book,” says Schutz. “I added a few personal touches. For example, in the Garneau scene a red pick up truck is featured in the foreground. This truck was my grandpa’s old Ford Ranger, which he sold to me for a dollar when I turned 16 and got my drivers license.”

Wharton admits that working within the constraints of a 32 page picture book was a challenge. “What took most of the work was figuring out how much text we could put on each page, how many visits to different time periods and figuring out how it would look on the page,” he says. “A lot of that was done when Amanda came on board. When I first saw her work, I already had the idea in my mind that this would be a fun, a fast-paced story, and Amanda’s style fit that perfectly. The story came together that way.”

It was Wharton’s idea to use a moose as the ‘vehicle’ for time-travel, based on his own experiences observing the “big, ungainly” animals on the acreage he shares with his wife. It was also his decision to make Robin a girl. “At first we talked about avoiding gender, just making this a kid, which is why I chose the name Robin,” he explains. “It’s a kid, so take your pick, but that proved to be really problematic and clunky in terms of the pronouns. Eventually I decided to make her a tomboy. So she’s got a ponytail, but she’s in pants and she’s a real go-getter.”

For children, seeing yourself reflected in the pages of a picture book is important in terms of cultural and experiential awareness. It’s identity-building. Even for adults, a picture book like this provides a colourful doorway into our city’s history – a history that for most of us is a blank page. “We tend to get inundated like everyone else with American culture, and we forget that we have our own,” says Wharton. “But I think it’s important that people understand how things got to be the way they are.”

Indeed. Rutherford the Time-Travelling Moose leaves the reader, young and old, hungry for more Edmonton(or moose)-based stories.

It’s time to set that darkness echoing.

THOMAS WHARTON is the award-winning author of the young adult trilogy Perilous Realm and the Alberta-centric novel Icefields (a Canada Reads finalist). Wharton was born in Grande Prairie, Alberta and is currently an associate professor of writing and English at the University of Alberta in Edmonton.

AMANDA SCHUTZ is an Edmonton-based illustrator and designer. Schutz is the creative director of the design firm Curio Studio and her work has appeared in many children’s books and publications.

The story of a fragile, elderly woman alone on Christmas Eve will leave some wondering if this is appropriate subject matter for children. Others will wonder if its appropriate subject matter for adults, given its juvenile format.

But it is a book for me, and anyone who sees storytelling as non-exclusionary. All stories have a place in children’s literature, as long as they are told well, told sensitively and honestly, and in the case of picture books, told with illustrative depth.

Marguerite’s Christmas is an extraordinary book. Written by Québecois author India Desjardins and illustrated by Pascal Blanchet (Trois-Rivières), Marguerite’s Christmas is one of the most beautiful books in recent memory, and it also deeply sad, because in Marguerite’s solitude we as readers want to reach out to her, even though her reality – being alone at Christmas – is not particularly unusual. The elderly are not always surrounded by family during the holidays like we see on TV, and some people, perhaps many people, are lonely at Christmas.

It’s difficult to know if I am ascribing feelings to Marguerite that she herself does not possess. She claims to be happy cocooning in her home, enjoying comforting rituals like watching her favourite holiday movies and not bothering with the tiresome fuss of Christmas. Many of her friends and family have died, and she is no longer interested in making new memories, just revisiting old. She repeatedly reassures her family that she is OK.

And yet, she is frequently startled by routine noises and fears going outside as if suffering from mild agoraphobia. She could probably use some company, but rejects it. Clearly, Marguerite is nearing the end, and at one point even imagines the grim reaper at her door. The scenes that follow give me pause. Is the episode with the car actually happening, or is it part of her ‘passage’ to the other side?

Unlike some adults (or this adult), children will take Marguerite at face-value. The story will not make them uneasy. Instead they will be engaged by Marguerite’s predicament, by her haplessness and vivid imagination (stunningly expressed by the illustrator). Marguerite is a real character. She is endearingly quirky and fastidious. In the most transcendent moment of the book, her kind heart triumphs over her natural reticence when, in spite of her apprehension about venturing outdoors, she helps a stranded family in a broken-down car. It has been a very long time since she has been outside, and the stillness and chill of the winter night releases her fear.

It’s a brave and respectful move by India Desjardins to tell this unvarnished story of an elderly person’s winding-down life, and pitch it at children. For everyone, life is a journey, and each moment has its inherent pleasures and torments. And even when you least expect it, a moment of wonder.

The illustrations by Québec illustrator Pascal Blanchet elevate Marguerite’s Christmas into classic holiday fare, pulling out and intensifying the humour and poignancy of Desjardins words. The art is simply stunning, full of quiet, snow-dolloped streets and retro-heavy vignettes that draw from Marguerite’s life, past and present. The exaggerated angles, stylized imagery and flat colours are very much in the manner of Eyvind Earle, one of Disney’s finest background artists. Several years ago, I bought a book of his Christmas card illustrations (800 in total). Blanchet’s winterscapes seem plucked from that magnificent collection of cards Earle created over 60 years ago.

Marguerite’s Christmas is perfection from the storytelling and illustration to the candy cane end-papers and placement of the type. It’s one of those books where everything works in exquisite balance, each element enhancing the expression of the other. Yes, it is at times an uneasy, layered read, but it is also deeply touching. I’ll not soon forget Marguerite. I feel like I’ve known her my whole life.

The original French edition of Marguerite’s Christmas, Le Noël de Marguerite (Les Éditions de la Pastèque, 2014) was shortlisted for the 2014 Governor General Literary Award in Canada for both text and illustration.

For more CHRISTMAS PICTURE BOOK REVIEWS, click HERE. Within that post, is a link to an even longer list of Christmas books!

When Brenda Z. Guiberson met Gennady Spirin, the picture book gods and godettes smiled. Since their original collaboration Life in the Boreal Forest, the talented twosome have been creating THE most beautiful, non-fiction picture books around. It’s not possible to pick a favourite, although I will admit to a strong affinity for the frogs in Frog Song, and as a resident of the north, how could I not love the moose in Life in the Boreal Forest?

Nevertheless, their newest venture The Most Amazing Creature in the Sea is truly amazing, as the title suggests. It’s so strangely beautiful, in fact, it could be a collection of alien creatures as imagined by some unfathomably inspired and slightly demented dreamer.

In the interest of full disclosure, I am not a fan of the sea. I respect it, I worry about it, and I’ve enjoyed dipping my toes in it, but aesthetically – I prefer a nice tree over a squid. For reasons that I don’t quite understand, fish creep me out.

The Most Amazing Creature in the Sea will not endear the squeamish, like me, but it will beguile. The creatures range from Box Jellyfish (and its millions of stinging toxic cells) to the truly bizarre Barreleye Fish, also known as the spook fish – for good reason: it’s got a transparent head. There are other non-orifice-clenching sea dwellers represented in the book, like sharks and leatherback sea turtles, but each in their own particular and often peculiar way, are vying for the title of the most amazing creature in the sea.

It’s a great premise. Each creature makes its case, and each one is stranger, in an evolutionary sense, than the next. One wonders what selection pressures created this little horror:

“I am an ANGLEFISH. As a female, I lure prey close to my mouth with the light that dangles from my dorsal spine. Smaller males join their bodies to mine, latching on with their teeth until their skin fuses into mine. I eat for us all, sharing the nutrients from my bloodstream. I see for us all when each male attached to me loses his eyes. That’s why I’m the most amazing creature in the sea!”

Amazing, for sure. Also horrific, nightmarish and spectacularly homicidal. Guiberson and Spirin show us a fantastical world that stuns the intellect, astonishes the eye, and confronts our deepest fears.

And don’t even get me started on Hagfish (aka ‘the snot fish’).

The Most Amazing Creature in the Sea is a thing of wonder. I may not ever want to meet one of these creatures outside of a Stephen King novel, but I marvel at their very creation. In compelling, but simple detail, Guiberson conveys the individual quality of each creature while making a case for their growing endangerment. As with Life in the Boreal Forest and Frog Song, the author’s notes include additional information about the environmental pressures faced by these and other creatures of the sea, as well as links to conservation organizations.

It is Gennady Spirin’s illustrations that elevate the book from an interesting and informative read to a work of art. How beautifully he imagines this undersea world! It’s as if someone has opened a long buried treasure chest and all the gold and jewels have wafted out, setting the sea alight. I try very hard not to draw a distinction between fine art and illustration, but as I have said before in other posts about this Russian illustrator, Spirin’s paintings are true masterpieces. They would be at home in a museum.

In countless publications, most of them re-tellings of traditional folk and fairy tales, Spirin pulls out exquisite detail in tempera, watercolour and pencil, creating illustrations that appear torn from a 500 year old illuminated bible. They are luminescent, flecked with gold, delicately and richly coloured.

The virtuosity of the illustrations suggest (or perhaps demand) a leisurely pace, but Spirin is prolific, which is great news for those of us who are greedy for each new publication. Interestingly, he does not discriminate – whether its Chekhov, Hans Christian Andersen or Brenda Guiberson – every illustration gig gets the full Spirin treatment. It’s not a stretch to think he (and Guiberson) reveled in the peculiar, almost supernatural details of these creatures, imbuing them with character in spite of their utter lack of charm. I’m sure they’re fine fellows in their own right, but as I have already mentioned, I’m not drawn to the ocean, but in the hands of a brilliant illustrator like Gennady Spirin, I find its creatures admirable, if only for the sheer weirdness of their existence.

Gennady Spirin studied at the Moscow Art School and the Academy of Arts, as well as the Moscow Stroganov Institute, and currently lives in Princeton, New Jersey. Together with Guiberson, he has published three other books: The Greatest Dinosaur Ever, Frog Song and Life in the Boreal Forest. Beyond this, however, Spirin has created dozens of books, all of which are little masterpieces of illustration.

Brenda Z. Guiberson is an author and illustrator who has had a life-long interest in science. Hailing from Washington state, Guiberson has written many books for children, including Cactus Hotel, Spoonbill Swamp, Moon Bear and Disasters.

I am very happy to report that a sort of sequel to this book will be published in 2016 called The Deadliest Creature in the World. Here’s a sneak preview.

The Most Amazing Creature in the Sea by Brenda Z. Guiberson, illustrated by Gennady Spirin. Henry Holt and Company, 2015

October is but a mere few hours away from November’s hostile takeover and I’ve yet to post reviews of new Halloween books for 2015, mostly because I have only one. I’m sure there are more, but I’ve been bereft in my picture book trolling. Nevertheless, Leo: A Ghost Story is a gooder and I am happy to add it to my list of BOOtiful Halloween confections. And so, I bring you my annual celebration of the macabre, the creepy, and the deliciously twisted in children’s literature. Yes, this is a re-hash of previous Halloween posts and ghosts of Halloween’s past (CLICK on the links for longer reviews):

“Gary, I’m scared!”

This rather amusing statement initiates a series of events in Leo: a Ghost Story (Mac Barnett and Christian Robinson/Chronicle Books) resulting in a young ghost-boy leaving his home and venturing far afield in search of a more welcoming abode. Young Leo is self-entertaining house ghost occupying an old dwelling on the edge of the city. When a new family moves in, his friendly overtures are less than well received. The family calls in a scientist, a clergyman and a psychic to de-ghostify the house, which Leo believes is a waste of money. He knows he is unwanted.

“I have been a house ghost all my life. Maybe I would like being a roaming ghost for a while.”

Leo says farewell to his home and ventures into the city. Judging by his Little Lord Fauntleroy attire, he is about a hundred years old, and the city looks very different to him. He is quickly lost in the bustling urban setting. The first person to ‘see’ Leo is a little girl named Jane, who invites him to play Knights of the Round Table. Jane takes Leo home, where both the girl and her parents assume he is imaginary. When Jane discovers he is a ghost, she’s pretty cool with it. In fact, she’s a pretty cool girl. Her games are imaginative and inclusive, and it’s wonderful to see her calmly accept Leo for who he is – a ghost in need of a friend.

I am familiar with Mac Barnett of Sam and Dave Dig a Hole fame but had not heard of Christian Robinson until his name started popping up on the internet in gleeful anticipation of Leo: a Ghost Story. A previous winner of the Coretta Scott King Illustrator Honor for Josephine: the Dazzling Life of Josephine Baker, Robinson’s newest book retains the old-timey simplicity of form but introduces a minimalist and much bluer palette. The San Francisco-based artist uses acrylic paint and cut out construction paper to create his humourous and playful illustrations. Leo is a blue outline, but no less substantial than the rest of the characters – just a little more see-through. The use of varying shades of blue is a nice way to bring diversity to the page without being overt. Leo: a Ghost Story is also beautiful. The colours, though limited to blue, black, and orange (on the cover), are stark and chilly. A little haunted, but invitingly so. I’m with Jane on this one – I would share mint tea and honey toast anytime with Leo.

My only quibble – the title. Personally, I would have gone with Gary I’m Scared, or I See Blue People

Published in 2014, the truly scary WHAT THERE IS BEFORE THERE IS ANYTHING THERE by the Argentine cartoonist Liniers. This beautifully illustrated book is wildly funny, and surprisingly disturbing. As a former scaredy-cat kid, I can relate to the lad’s nightmarish visitations when the lights go out. Liniers balances humour with creeptastic (and yet somehow affable) creatures that do nothing but stare at the boy – until the thing that is there before there is anything there arrives. Yikes!

I’ve been meaning to write about the wonderful illustrator Chris Sheban for some time now, almost fourteen years, although in my indefensible defense I’ve only had this blog for five of those fourteen years, and I have a lot of books.

I first came across Sheban’s work at a Washington, D.C. bookstore. It was a tall and slender book called The Shoe Tree of Chagrin,and it remains one of the best and most beautiful ‘finds’ of any trip I’ve experienced, which of course always includes a visit or two to a bookstore. One day I will write about that marvel of a book, but for now I have fallen mightily for a dog. A dog in search of a job.

In Job Wanted, written by Teresa Bateman, an old dog must prove his worth to a farmer. It’s not stated why the dog is homeless, but suffice to say, he is an experienced farm dog with an empty belly, an imaginative mind and a willingness to do whatever it takes, including impersonating a cow. The farmer is not convinced, believing that dogs “just eat, and don’t give anything back”. (Clearly, this farmer has never owned a dog.)

“Do you have an opening for a cow?” the dog asked.

“Well sure. But, you’re not a cow.”

“We’ll see about that,” the dog said. “I’ll start work tomorrow.”

The next day, the dog prepares the cows for milking and the farmer is able to finish the job “in jig time”. Bateman uses this idiosyncratic turn of phrase several times, indicating that the dog’s helpful acts are having their intended effect. Following a confrontation with a fox, the farmer calls the commotion a “foofaraw”. These expressions are a nice bit of characterization, deepening the homey, mid-western feel of the book.

Wordplay is one of the many pleasures in Job Wanted, accentuated by Sheban’s magnificent watercolour, graphite and Prismacolour pencil illustrations. The Grant Wood-esque landscapes are rendered in sparse detail, allowing Sheban to direct his wondrous imagination to the farmer, the farm animals, and most impressively, the dog. With his grey-flecked snout, plaintive expression, and gangly body, we fall for the old mutt immediately. Surely he has proven his worth just by being so darn lovable? Well, as we learn, farm dogs must earn their keep. It is not enough to be cute (speaking for the farmer, because in my canine world being cute is more than enough).

Author and illustrator extract the maximum amount of humour, charm and pathos from this story of a dog who is not so much looking for a job as a home. It’s a testament to my investment in this story, and to dogs in general, that I experienced a fair amount of anxiety waiting for the farmer to accept this mutt into his life, and when it finally happens, it’s truly a lovely (and cathartic) moment.

Sheban’s illustrations are like opals – soft and deep and ever-changing. Sometimes you see the blue, sometimes the gold, but every colour is present, if variably expressed. A translucent glow lifts the tones, bathing each wash of colour and pencil stroke in morning light. While it’s easy to be charmed by Sheban’s great warmth and humour, each illustration stands on its own as a thing of beauty – from the bespectacled farmer to the fat hens, and most of all an old hound dog who still has a few tricks up his hairy sleeve. If you’ve ever loved a dog, or needed a job, or worked on a farm, or if you just plain love funny, exquisitely illustrated picture books, then I would highly recommend that you pick up Job Wanted…in jig time.

Chris Sheban grew up in Boardman, Ohio, attending Kent State University followed by several years of graduate work. He has been awarded three Gold and three Silver Medals from the Society of Illustrators. Watch these pages (all 32 of them) for reviews of The Shoe Tree of Chagrin, and a couple of other Sheban beauties in my collection: The Story of a Seagull and the Cat Who Taught Her to Fly and Catching the Moon. Chris lives in Chicago, Illinois.

Teresa Bateman was born in Moscow, Idaho, but moved to Washington State when she was three-years-old. She is a school librarian, dog lover, storyteller and the author of many wonderful stories and poems for children. Her book Keeper of Soles is an ALA Notable Children’s Book.

“I realized that all the really good ideas I’d ever had came to me while I was milking a cow. So I went back to Iowa.” Grant Wood

How delightfully strange that a Canadian author and illustrator would create a picture book about the American painter Grant Wood. It’s doubtful that young readers, regardless of their nationality, will have heard of Grant Wood, and as a subject matter, the artist famous for the dour portrait of a farm couple and their pitchfork is, to say the least, an unusual choice. However, Grant and Tillie Go Walking works because author Monica Kulling and illustrator Sydney Smith have found a way to tell a fictional story that is suggestive of the life and artistic legacy of Grant Wood but still recognizably biographical. In melding fact and fiction, the story takes off, becomes its own thing – reverent but also charmingly re-imagined as the story of a man who takes the long way around to find what truly matters, and a cow who knew it all along.

Grant and Tillie Go Walking is about two characters – an artist (Grant) and his cow, Tillie. Grant is a restless soul, disenchanted with the pastoral landscapes and quiet lifestyle of his family’s Iowa farm. He longs to paint like the French artists in Paris, and so abandons the farm and Tillie for the City of Lights. Tillie is inconsolable (as only cows can be in children’s books), giving little milk and refusing to go for walks without her best pal, in spite of the tender care of Grant’s mother. On the other side of the world, Grant adopts the lifestyle of the French painters and even dons a beret, but it is an invention – convincing no one, especially the French who are dismissive of Grant’s depictions of rural America. His dreams of home reveal a truth that is undeniable.

“Grant looked different, but inside he was still a shy, quiet man, and a slow painter.”

In actuality, Grant Wood visited Europe four times over a period of years, but like the character in the book, he returns to Iowa to paint what is authentically meaningful to him – the American landscape. As an artist, Wood was inextricably shaped and inspired by his mid-west experiences. His very personal and unique style of painting is emblematic of an American art movement known as Regionalism, and his painting, American Gothic (depicted in the book), would become as internationally revered and recognizable as the masterpieces he studied in Europe.

Grant and Tillie Go Walking is a gentle and beautifully realized portrait of an artist in formation. The old adage, write (or paint) what you know is an obvious motif, but running parallel is a story about bonding and connection – with the land, with wherever you call home, and with the person you truly are. And if you’re lucky enough to have one, your cow.

Kudos to Monica Kulling and Sydney Smith for creating a picture book for children about this artist, or any artist. While illustrated picture books introduce art to children indirectly as a 32 page work of art, books about art and artists for children are rare. Fictionalized accounts even rarer. How do you walk that line between biography and fiction? Sydney Smith’s illustrations in Grant and Tillie Go Walking are an homage to Grant Wood but still stylistically original. Even more surprising is how much they differ from his previous book, the exquisite Sidewalk Flowers, which draws from the graphic novel sensibility of dark outlines and a palette of primary colours.

I recently talked to the incredibly talented Sydney Smith about his approach to creating Grant and Tillie Go Walking. Here’s an edited version of our chat:

32Pages: In the publication notes, it states that you used watercolour, ink, and a toothbrush to create the illustrations. Can you talk about the process?

SS: I used mostly a stenciling method for this book. I would draw the various shapes on bristol board and cut them out using the positive and negative as masking for application of watercolour or ink. The toothbrush was for the splatter. I have used a similar approach before digitally and thought that the effect would work well in this case because the result could have a similarity to Grant Wood’s style of painting. His hills and trees were so rounded and rich. The non-digital approach is much messier. I am still finding small paint-splattered cutouts of cows and houses in my studio!

32Pages: How do you decide on style for a particular book?

SS: The hardest part of Grant and Tillie was deciding the approach. I had just finished Sidewalk Flowers but it didn’t feel right to do the same thing. The dark shadows and thick ink lines made sense for the city but in Grant Wood’s rural Iowa the images needed to be softer and reflecting his own style of painting.

32Pages: Were you familiar with the work of Grant Wood before you started this project?

SS: Like most people, I was familiar with American Gothic and I recognized a few other paintings of his but I wasn’t familiar with his story. He found his Regionalist style after experimenting with other styles that were popular at the time and I can relate to that. Also, moving to a big city and being overwhelmed, that’s something I can relate to as well.

SS: The most gratifying part was trying something new and taking a risk and seeing it through. I was working in a way I never have before and although the process was slow, it was worth it. And Monica (Kulling) is wonderful and prolific. She has an excitement and talent that is infectious. She is unstoppable!

Sydney Smith was born in rural Nova Scotia and graduated with a BFA from the Nova Scotia College of Art & Design in Halifax. He has illustrated multiple children’s books, including the wordless picture book Sidewalk Flowers. Sydney lives in Toronto.

According to her website, Monica Kulling “lived the life of a free-range kid” in British Columbia. She studied creative writing at the University of Victoria, and is the author of many books for young readers, including The Tweedles Go Electric and The Tweedles Go Online.

Few Canadian icons are as beloved as Lynn Johnston. Most everyone has read her Pulitzer Prize nominated comic strip For Better or For Worse, finding their own lives reflected in the everyday activities of the Patterson family. Unlike most comic strips, however, the characters aged and faced real-world issues that other popular forms of entertainment ignored. People, and I include myself here, were (and still are) emotionally invested in the characters and its creator Lynn Johnston. Now we have For Better or For Worse: The Comic Art of Lynn Johnston, and with it, a much richer portrait of the artist and woman behind the comic strip.

Published to coincide with an international touring exhibition of Lynn Johnston’s work (organized by the Art Gallery of Sudbury), For Better or For Worse: The Comic Art of Lynn Johnston is a retrospective of her best-loved strips, but beyond that, we are treated to her artistic development as a cartoonist and comic writer, or as Lynn puts it, “Fifty years of drawings, doodles, sketches, and scrawls”.

It was an education that began almost at birth. Lynn’s aunt and mother were artists, and comic books and the ‘funny pages’ were not only encouraged they were preferred reading material.

Johnston’s father was a mild-mannered student of comedy, especially the slapstick shenanigans of the silent comedy era.

“We didn’t watch these films like an ordinary audience; we studied them. He would run scenes back and forth to show us how gags were set up, how everything was choreographed exactly to look spontaneous or to look like an accident. He wanted to see how comedy was created. If there was a formula to ‘funny’, he wanted to find out what that was.”

Nothing in the Ridgeway household was taboo, other than the expression of serious emotion and MAD Magazine, which her mother thought was crude. (Lynn read it anyway.) And still, growing up Ridgway had its challenges. Though generally supportive of her daughter’s early artistic explorations, her mother withheld praise and affection, and in combination with episodes of physical abuse, instilled a deep sense of insecurity and a combative, authority-averse impulsivity. An eccentric household steeped in the opposing forces of a passivity and dominance was the incubator of a great, if troubled artist, but as Lynn states, “If you can’t say it right out, joke about it.”

Of her early life and career, so much of it reads like the evolution of a woman destined to become a comedic artist: class clown, obsessive doodler, observant, irreverent, socially aware, outsider, genetically inclined to laugh at life. All of it poured into the comic strip that would make her famous, For Better or For Worse, which debuted in September, 1979.

When For Better or For Worse first appeared in the newspapers, I read it not just as someone invested in the life of the Patterson family, but as an artist, enthralled (and more than a little jealous) of the beauty and fluidity of her line. The nuances and quirks of body language revealed at least as much (and usually much more) about the character’s emotional state as did the dialogue, deepening the humour and adding a layer of relatability unusual for a cartoon family.

The complex narratives captured in a few panels and a swish of her pen seemed effortless, but it’s a style that evolved over years of personal and professional illustration, samples of which are happily included in this book (and in the exhibition). As a Canadian, I was particularly pleased to see homegrown locations and place names show up in For Better or For Worse, which is a bold move for a Canadian comic strip with international aspirations.

On a personal note, I had the great pleasure of meeting Lynn Johnston on multiple occasions as a employee of a large, independent bookstore in Edmonton. She was always gracious and funny, easy to talk to, with large, beautiful blue eyes. She gave me a great piece of artistic advice which I adhere to – keep your originals. I sent her a personal thank you letter after one of her visits, and she replied – in her unmistakable handwriting. For several years we exchanged Christmas cards. Above my drafting table hangs a framed, personalized autograph with all the Patterson family. It is no word of a lie to say that Lynn Johnston is one of my artistic heroes, but with For Better or For Worse: The Comic Art of Lynn Johnston, she has become something better – a brilliant, messy, complex, and entirely original human being.

The first woman and the first Canadian to win the National Cartoonist Society’s Reuben Award for Outstanding Cartoonist of the Year, retired from creating new cartoons for the strip in 2010, but For Better or For Worse continues on in syndication, revisiting the early days of the strip for a new generation. In 1992, Lynn Johnston was made a Member of the Order of Canada, our country’s highest civilian honour

For Better or For Worse: The Comic Art of Lynn Johnston by Lynn Johnston and Katherine Hadway, published by Goose Lane Editions and the Art Gallery of Sudbury, 2015